


It's All Fun and Games

by authoressnebula (authoressjean)



Series: Raising a Big Brother [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Big Brother Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester is Protective of Sam Winchester, Gen, Good Parent John Winchester, Humor, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester has the patience of a saint, Pranks, Pre-Season/Series 01, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Pre-Series Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Weechesters, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, brotherly bantering, dean is 15, no one can hurt Sam except Dean, sam is 11, the infamous prank war, yes this involves Nair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26179024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressnebula
Summary: It starts in an ordinary diner in an ordinary town. The infamous Prank War.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & John Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Raising a Big Brother [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749589
Comments: 12
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal May/June 2008.
> 
> Remember this?
> 
> "We’re not gonna start that crap up again."
> 
> "Start what up?"
> 
> "That prank stuff! It’s stupid, and it always escalates."
> 
> Sam's all upset about it, and Dean's all "Eh, no big deal"? I kinda wondered why.

It started in a small, random diner in Illinois. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing any different than any of the other diners they'd ever stopped in.  
  
The conversation wasn't any different, either. “I'll have the special,” and “Can you pass me the salt, dude?” Nothing strikingly different. New hunt found, new town about to be settled into. Same old, same old.  
  
So when Sam pushed away from the table to use the restroom, Dean did what he always did: wave his hands over Sam's food, as if he was going to tamper with it. Instead of rolling his eyes, however, like he usually did, Sam got upset. “Don't touch my food, Dean,” he said as he glared at his brother. “I mean it.”  
  
Dean frowned at him. “I wasn't _going_ to, you dork.”  
  
“Boys,” Dad warned, eyes still glued to the newspaper in his hands.  
  
Sam sent another glare in Dean's direction, then headed off to the restroom. Dean made a face at him behind his back, then sat back and crossed his arms. The kid wasn't _fun_ anymore. He was trying to be all grown up, like Dean had been at eleven, and Dean really didn't like it. Plus, Sam was stepping slowly but surely closer to the years both Dean and Dad had been warily anticipating: the teen years.  
  
Sam was already pretty moody and weird. Dean couldn't _wait_ until he was really a teen.  
  
Not.  
  
Dean's eyes drifted to the bathroom door (big brother, he couldn't help but do it), then settled back on Sam's food with a sigh. The kid was at least a neat-freak: all his fries on one corner of the plate, his chicken fingers in another, and his ketchup in the corner nearest Dean.  
  
Dean's eyes widened, then slowly slid over to the other condiments to his right. Mustard, ketchup, and Tabasco sauce. He sat up straighter, and started to grin. He could feel it reaching the maniacal level of a grin, so he attempted to make sure it didn't reach satanic.  
  
If he was going to get glared at for touching Sam's food, he might as well do it.  
  
He glanced over at the bathroom door for a completely different reason, and when he didn't see Sam, he reached over and casually took the Tabasco sauce. He uncorked it on its path over to Sam's plate, and carefully tipped it to let the contents slide out and into the ketchup pile. He used a fry to mix it in, then popped it in his mouth for taste. Even he couldn't stop the shudder at the taste, and it was quickly followed by a snicker.  
  
Dad paused for a moment, then looked over the newspaper at Dean. Dean gave a small grin, Tabasco bottle covered by his hand. If anything, Dad looked even more suspicious, and glanced over at Sam's plate. “Dean,” was all he said, in a tone that was definitely a warning.  
  
Dean said nothing. Dad finally sighed and turned back to his paper just as Sam came out of the restroom. The bottle was quickly slid back to its place next to the mustard, and Dean leaned back in his seat, nonchalant and composed.  
  
Sam gave him a weird look when he sat back down, but didn't say anything. He kept his eyes on Dean, though, even as he dipped one of his fries into the ketchup, practically _slathered_ it with the red condiment, then popped it into his mouth.  
  
Dean bit down on his lip to keep from grinning, but he didn't have to wait long.  
  
Sam's eyes widened comically, and he swallowed hard, then began panting for air. “What's the matter?” Dad asked immediately, paper put aside.  
  
“What did you _do_?” Sam wheezed, reaching for his water and downing it as fast as he could. Dean finally let the burst of laughter out, cackling as Sam glared at him through the glass.  
  
“Little too spicy for you there, Sammy?” Dean really couldn't help himself from saying.  
  
Sam finally set the empty glass down and pinned Dean with a glare that would've wilted flowers. All it did to Dean was make him crack up even more. “You're gonna _pay_ , you jerk,” Sam threatened. “I mean it.”  
  
Dad merely rolled his eyes and went back to the paper. Dean grinned unrepentantly and leaned back in his seat. The kid was such a dweeb sometimes.  
  


* * *

  
  
Three days later, and they were pretty much settled in and spread out in their small, rented apartment. Dean had completely forgotten about the diner, Sam figured, if his casualness was anything to go by. It was either that, or his stupid brother actually didn't see him as a threat.  
  
Well, Dean was going to learn how very wrong he was the hard way.  
  
He'd thought and planned ever since the diner, and now, he was fairly certain he had the perfect prank. All he needed was a chance at doing laundry and a single sock.  
  
It wasn't like pranks were a new deal to him; there'd been the stupid stuff kids pulled at school on April Fool's. Dollar on a string, whoopee cushion...the basics. It was all lame, and usually, Dean laughed with him. How stupid the kids could be, how dumb the jokes were, and how could people fall for them again and again?  
  
This was different, though. This was _Dean_ he was pranking, and Dean was sneaky. Dean had four years on Sam, several inches in height, and he was the big brother who didn't shock easy. He'd seen a lot during hunting, wasn't really surprised by a lot anymore.  
  
But this? This was private territory, where Sam always stated he would never go, because ew. Today, however, was a different day, and everything was free game.  
  
There was a laundromat not far from their place, and heading there after school would've been easy except Dean and Dad knew when school let out, and when to start looking for him. No, he'd have to cut school for it. As much as he hated the idea (on the first day, no less), he'd deal. This was a little more important.  
  
So by three in the afternoon, Sam came home with his backpack thrown over his shoulder. Dean didn't even spare him a _glance_ , and Sam made it to their shared bedroom with ease. He closed the door casually, then emptied his backpack like a madman, hastily taking the clothing out from under his books and putting it back in Dean's duffel. Five minutes later, when Dean came in to say they were ordering pizza, Sam was doing his homework.  
  
The reward itself didn't come until several hours later, after Dean took his shower for the next day. He headed into their room, closed the door, and Sam stayed out on the couch with his book. He held it high on his face so he could grin in peace, and waited.  
  
A shriek echoed through the house, and Sam snickered, then brought the book closer to his face. “Dean? You all right?” Dad asked, standing and heading over to the room.  
  
The door opened seconds later, and Sam dared a peek over the top of his book. Dean was standing in the doorway, holding his towel in a tight fist to keep from falling. His arm was outstretched, and his face was nearly as pink as the underwear shorts he was waving in front of Dad's face. “They're all _pink_ ,” he squeaked, and Sam snorted loud enough for Dean to hear. Dean whipped his head around and narrowed his gaze at Sam.  
  
“Dude, you have dug your _last grave_ , I swear,” Dean swore.  
  
“I don't know, Dean,” Sam said bravely. “I think pink's a good look; goes well with your face.”  
  
Dad simply shook his head and turned away, but Sam caught the grin that was threatening to form on his face. Satisfied that he wasn't going to get in trouble, Sam let himself laugh as Dean slammed the bedroom door behind him.  
  


* * *

  
  
So the little geek wanted to play, huh?  
  
Fine. They'd play.  
  
Dean wasn't going to play with the little guns anymore, either. Sam had crossed a _line_ , and Dean was going to show him why he shouldn't mess with his big brother.  
  
There were obviously rules that had to be followed. Hurting Sam wasn't an option, at all. As much as Dean was irked and wanted to pound him for the underwear, he wasn't going to physically hurt Sam.  
  
But there had to be _something_ else he could do.  
  
He thought it over for a week, and let Sam freak out a little more each day when something didn't happen. The kid was peering into shadows and watching him like a hawk, and Dean thought about letting _that_ be the prank, hyping up what he'd done when he hadn't done anything at all, but...no. No, something much more devious was needed for this.  
  
When he went to Wal-Mart to buy a new pack of boxers, he decided to roam the aisles, hoping it would stir up his imagination and give him inspiration enough to-  
  
He paused in the middle of the aisle and stared in awe at the bottle before him. Nair stared innocently back, and the grin Dean gave went well past maniacal. If his dad had seen him, he'd have poured holy water all over him and started reciting off an exorcism.  
  
But Dad wasn't here; he was outside in the Impala, waiting for Dean to make his purchase so they could pick Sam up from school. He grabbed the bottle and hurried to the counter, aware of the odd look the cashier gave him. He wasn't even going to try to explain it to her; it wasn't worth it.  
  
Sam's face, though, was definitely going to be.  
  
Before he headed out to Dad, he tucked the bottle into the inside of his jacket, leaving the pack of boxers the only thing in the bag. Dad didn't even give him a second glance, and neither did Sam, though the kid did give his seat a three-times over look before he'd actually sit down.  
  
Dean bit the inside of his cheek. This was _the_ ultimate prank. He deserved a medal for this.  
  
And Sam would finally concede that Dean was the master, and that would be the end of everything.  
  
Satisfied with himself, he headed in nonchalantly, taking the bathroom first. He grabbed the shampoo Sam always used and poured a quarter of it down the drain. The bottle of Nair was whipped out, the top undone, and Dean couldn't help the snicker as he poured it into the shampoo. Not enough to make someone's scalp come off, but enough to lose some serious hair.  
  
Kid was going _down_.  
  
“Dean? Are you almost done?”  
  
_You have no idea, little brother,_ Dean thought to himself, before he called back, “Yeah, gimme a second.” He spent a few seconds shaking up the bottle, then set it back in the shower. The bottle of Nair was stashed back into his jacket, and he flushed the toilet quickly, washed his hands, then stepped out past an annoyed Sam.  
  
The door shut behind Sam, and the shower started. Dean flopped himself down on the couch and waited.  
  
Ten minutes later, Dean's hard work finally paid off. “ _DEAN!_ ” Sam hollered, and Dean let out the laugh he'd been holding since he'd bought the damn bottle. Dad merely groaned and hung his head, not even apparently wanting to know what Dean had done.  
  
Sam helped them both out by providing a visual a few moments later, and Dean stared in shock before he fell back into the sofa, holding his belly and roaring. There was nothing left but a few stray strands on Sam's head, sticking up in various directions. Most of it was just gone, leaving nothing but pink, shiny skin.  
  
Sam's face was red as Dean had ever seen it, when Dean managed to look up through his tears. “I'm going to _kill you_ ,” Sam swore, and his head turned a tiny bit pinker. Dean howled and rolled on the sofa, completely ignoring Sam's threats. _Man_ but it felt good to be the top dog.  
  
Two hours later, after Dad was convinced that Sam would be fine and that the hair would grow back easily, that Dean was convinced his dad had the patience of a saint, and Sam was convinced he was going to kill Dean with tiny little pliers, Dean found himself on the sofa with a sullen Sam sitting as far from Dean as he could.  
  
Dean glanced over at Sam, stifling his snickers as he did. Dad had trimmed off the rest of the hair so there weren't uneven patches, and the kid didn't look horrible with a shaved head. Convincing Sam of that, though, wasn't going to help matters. “What can I say, Sammy: you're good, but I'm just better. And all's fair in war, you know.”  
  
Sam just glared at him, then turned back to the TV. “C'mon; girls think guys with shaved heads are cute,” Dean coaxed, grinning again.  
  
Sam's face (and head) paled. “Oh god,” he whimpered, eyes wide. “I have to go to _school_ tomorrow. Oh god oh god oh _god_ -”  
  
“Chill out,” Dean said, rolling his eyes and standing. He dug through his duffel bag, finally coming up with the item he'd been looking for, then tossed it at Sam. “Here, wear that. If anyone gives you any crap over it, you come find me, all right? School's are right next to each other, dude.”  
  
Sam blinked at the object in his lap and frowned up at Dean. “Dean, this is your favorite AC/DC hat. You're gonna let me wear it?”  
  
Dean shrugged and sat back down on the sofa. “Just don't get it dirty or anything.” The black hat had been a gift from Dad for his fifteenth birthday, and it was still one of Dean's favorite things. Still, the last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to catch hell at school for the shaved head. Dean tormenting Sam was one thing: anyone else doing it was another.  
  
Sam gazed at him for a moment, then pulled the hat on viciously. With it, Dean wouldn't have known that Sam had no hair. “Don't think I'm still not going to get you,” Sam warned him.  
  
“Whatever, little bro,” Dean said cheerfully. He wasn't worried.  
  
What could Sam possibly do to top _that_?  
  


* * *

  
  
It only took Sam four days to figure out what he wanted to do, but another week to actually be able to put it into motion. He'd had to wait until Dad had taken Dean out of town to buy silver bullets from a man nearby, and then Sam had decided to do a little shopping of his own.  
  
He managed to get himself home in time, and since they weren't home yet, Sam used the time to put it into motion. No more waiting around; Dean was going to get it and get it _good_.  
  
Sam first removed all of Dean's cassettes from their usual box, which was currently under Dean's bed. The cassettes had been put into a bag and hidden underneath Sam's own bed, and then Sam had pulled out his prize and headed for the back yard.  
  
Blank tapes, all brand new and shiny. Of course, by the time Sam was done with them, they weren't going to look shiny in the slightest, and they weren't going to look new, either.  
  
Dean had crossed a line. When he'd removed Sam's hair by means of Nair (even though he'd given Sam his favorite hat to wear to school so he wouldn't get picked on), he'd crossed a big, stinking line, and Sam was going to make sure he knew it.  
  
He wasn't going to hurt Dean physically, but the look on his face when he realized what Sam had done? Sam was going to take pictures to laugh at for _years_.  
  
He crunched the new tapes beneath his shoes, grinding them up into tiny little pieces. One match struck on the concrete was all he needed, and the tapes began to burn. Sam waited until they were good and black, then put out the fire. The way they were looking now, Dean would never be able to tell that they weren't his tapes. Sam wasn't _stupid_ ; he wasn't going to really destroy Dean's tapes. Just shake him up.  
  
Dean had made him lose his _hair_. The jerk was lucky that it had always grown back fast, and already he had dark fuzz on the top of his scalp.  
  
He gathered the remains carefully together with a single sheet of paper, then used the paper to sweep them into Dean's box. He wiped away the evidence from the concrete as best he could, then hurried inside, sliding the box back underneath the bed. He really really hoped that Dean would want to play his cassettes tonight.  
  
Luck was on his side, and Dean and Dad arrived home ten minutes later, with Dean heading straight for his tape player. “Did you get the bullets?” Sam asked Dad as Dean left for their bedroom.  
  
“Yeah; I've gotta pin down exactly where this thing is in the forest, but once I do, I think we'll be okay. How's the hair?”  
  
“Steadily growing back; Dean could've down worse,” Sam said with a casual shrug. Today, Sam had done the worse deed, and he _knew_ Dean would concede and let Sam be crowned the victor of their war.  
  
Dean suddenly appeared in the bedroom doorway, holding his box in shaking hands. Sam bit his lip but couldn't stop the knowing grin. “You _didn't_ ,” Dean managed to get out. His eyes looked wide and wild, and the rage in his voice startled even Sam.  
  
Then Sam remembered his lack of hair, and decided to let Dean stew for a little bit longer. “You took something from me, Dean; all's fair in war, you know,” he repeated back, trying to imitate Dean's mocking tone.  
  
Dean let the box drop to the ground as he dove for Sam. Sam yelped and ran for the door, making it and closing it behind him just in time. Dean pulled on the handle one way, Sam the other, suddenly wondering if this had been that good an idea. He didn't think he'd ever _seen_ Dean so mad before.  
  
“You sonuva _bitch_!”  
  
The door gave a little, and Sam's eyes widened. “Holy _crap_ ,” he managed, then braced his feet against the wall as the door continued to open for Dean. He knew, without a doubt, that if he opened the door, Dean would freakin' _pound him_.  
  
Sam really needed to shut up the voice in his head that said he was a genius.  
  
“Okay, that's _enough_.”  
  
The door flew open even as Sam gasped and hurried backwards. Dad caught Dean by the arm and pulled him back, even as he grabbed Sam and hauled him forward. “ _Enough_ ,” Dad said again, giving them both looks. “This prank nonsense is stopping now. Sam, what did you do?”  
  
“The _cassettes_ ,” Dean growled, fists shaking even as he clenched them tighter. “He burned-”  
  
“No, I didn't,” Sam said. “I bought blank tapes and ground them up and burned them. Dean's tapes are under my bed.”  
  
Dean shrugged off their dad and hurried back to the bedroom. Dad gave Sam a disapproving look, and Sam winced. “Did you really need to do that?” Dad asked.  
  
“He made me lose my _hair_!” Sam retorted.  
  
Dean appeared at the doorway then, the bag clutched in his hands. He glared at Sam, then slammed the door shut with enough force that the windows rattled.  
  
Sam stared in shock, not even realizing when Dad released him. What the _heck_? Was Dean seriously that pissed over the tapes? Man, Sam hadn't been that furious when Dean had made him lose his _hair_.  
  
When it was time for bed, Sam finally ventured into the room. Dean was laid back on his bed, headphones firmly on his ears, eyes glued to the wall in front of him. When Sam came in, he glanced over his way, then pointedly looked somewhere else. His features were still set into hard, unforgiving lines.  
  
“Dean?” Sam said hesitantly. Dean never cranked it up to the point where he couldn't hear someone, whether it was Dad calling an order or Sam calling for help. “Are you seriously that mad at me?”  
  
Dean didn't reply, and Sam sighed and moved to his bed, sitting down with a huff. “Dude, I didn't really burn your cassettes, so you didn't really lose anything,” Sam rationalized as he raised his eyebrow. “And you made me lose my hair, so considering what you did, I was really nice.”  
  
Dean finally ripped his headphones off from his ears and glared at Sam. “They're _Mom's_ cassettes, Sam,” he said in a voice that was as harsh as his face. “All Mom's favorite tapes that we saved from the fire.”  
  
Sam felt his jaw drop in horror. Oh god. No wonder Dean held onto the tapes like they were made out of gold. Not only had Sam touched a prized possession, but he'd tampered with a memory that was already filled with charred remains. “Oh god, Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't know-”  
  
He was ignored as Dean shoved away from the bed, standing and leaving the room, shutting the door sharply in his wake. Sam shut his eyes tight and wished he could redo the day.


	2. Chapter 2

When his youngest trudged home with his head hung low, John knew that things still weren't okay between the boys. He knew their little prank war had gone well past what either of them had bargained for, and knew that if he'd tried to intervene, it would've only gotten worse than it already had. Nothing like parental discouragement to fan the flames.  
  
Now, though, John knew he was going to have to do something. Sam's hair, at least, was growing back fast. Dean, however, still wasn't speaking to Sam. God knew Sam had tried all the night before to get Dean to say anything, and had tried again this morning, and the results had been the same.  
  
Even now, after school, Dean was still in the shared bedroom, doing...John wasn't sure what. Probably guarding his tapes and the one memory of happiness he had of Mary. John wasn't sure what Dean remembered about his mother, but he had to remember the music and the dancing through the house. Dean hadn't even been _born_ when she'd first started doing it.  
  
John closed his eyes and let the memory surface for a moment, then gently put it aside to talk with Sam. “How was school?” he asked.  
  
Sam shrugged, his gaze still cast downward. The hair on his head was still short, some of the scalp visible, but it wasn't bad.  
  
When John realized he could see the hair at all, his frown deepened. “Sam, where's the hat you've been wearing?”  
  
Sam looked away, his cheeks turning pink. “It's a long story,” he mumbled. There was a faint bruise on the underside of his cheek that was visible as he turned, and John had a fairly decent idea of what had happened.  
  
“Has he said anything yet?” Sam asked, and he did turn to John then with hopeful eyes. John hated to shake his head, but it was the truth. Sam's gaze turned downward again. “I told him I was sorry like a bazillion times,” he said miserably. “I really didn't know, Dad.”  
  
“I know you didn't,” John said, then sighed. “You up for a hunt tonight? I know where this thing is.”  
  
“Sure, I guess,” Sam said, and the indifference was only disappointment over Dean. John could see that clearly, so let it slide. Any other time, he'd have told Sam to straighten himself up and pay attention, get involved, get _interested_ , because it was going to be the factor between him being alert enough to protect himself and him winding up dead.  
  
“Get your brother, and I'll explain in the car about the leszy,” John ordered gently, and Sam merely nodded and trudged off to the room.  
  
Maybe a hunt would get the boys together. John wasn't looking forward to having to sit them both down and talking about it, but if he had to, then he would.  
  


* * *

  
  
“So...Dad thinks it's something called a leszy?”  
  
“Be quiet,” Dean hissed, gun raised and aimed ahead of him, straight up the hill.  
  
Sam bit his lip and did as he was told. The forest was creepy at night, and Dad had insisted he and Dean go off one way, Dad the other. Several people dead, their sides heavily scratched with damage to their heart, and Dad had surmised a leszy, which apparently tickled people to death. Wood spirit of sorts, one who didn't like people destroying the forest, and the brand new shopping center that was set to knock down the forest apparently pissed it off.  
  
Sam had joked and said it was kind of a lame way to die, but Dean hadn't even cracked a grin. He'd merely taken his gun with the silver bullets, made sure it was set to fire, then headed off into the forest. Armed with a silver knife, Sam had fallen in step behind him.  
  
“The silver'll work though, right? Because it has shape-shifting qualities?” Sam tried again.  
  
“Be _quiet_ ,” Dean whispered shortly, gaze darting to the right and left.  
  
Right. Dean was still pissed as could be. Sam wondered if the attitude was Dean's way of paying him back for the tape scare. Either way, he was fine with the prank war being over.  
  
He was about to ask Dean if it was over when something suddenly flew at them. “Dean, look out!” Sam shouted, and heard Dean's gun get off two shots. The blur sped past him, and Sam swung out, hearing a high pitched shriek as his blade connected.  
  
He stumbled backwards from the hit, and suddenly felt himself falling much further than he'd originally thought he would. He shouted and heard it echo around him as he kept falling, feeling sharp and soft things on his back as he went down.  
  
Then he was suddenly at the bottom, his arm hitting a hard surface, and he heard an audible crack two seconds before he felt it. He groaned and curled in on himself, cradling his arm to his chest. It had to be broken. Then he gasped as his curling sent him down another small hill, a gentle incline that wasn't more than a few feet away, but the movement was enough to jostle his injured limb and have him hauling in deep breaths.  
  
“Dean?” he called up, his shaky voice echoing up through the hole he'd fallen through. He could see the moonlight shining through to his right, where he'd originally landed, but couldn't hear a response. He had to be at least eleven, twelve feet down. Dean should easily be able to hear him.  
  
“Dean?” he tried again. “C'mon, man, answer me!”  
  
Nothing.  
  
Sam could feel helpless tears pricking at his eyes. The pain in his arm was immense, enough to keep his stomach churning, and he tried to shift to move back to the bottom of the hole. Then he was gasping for air, letting it out in a trembling sob. “Dean, c'mon, say something, _please_!” Sam begged. Dean couldn't be that mad at him, could he?  
  
Suddenly a new thought came to mind, and Sam tried to sit up, shouting again. “Dean! I'm sorry, okay? I'm really sorry, just...just don't leave me down here, okay? This isn't a funny prank, Dean!”  
  
Sam's prank with the tapes hadn't been funny, either, and it had obviously hurt Dean like hell.  
  
But Dean had never been this cruel before. He wouldn't really leave Sam down here for awhile, would he, just to teach him a lesson? To prank him back for the tapes?  
  
Sam kept calling, Dean kept not answering, and he finally stopped talking to keep the nausea at bay and his heart from hurting so damn much.  
  


* * *

  
  
Dean groaned and rolled over, his head pounding. Freakin' leszy had shoved him good and hard, sending him flying back down the hill.  
  
“Are you hurt?” Dad asked, tucking his gun into his jeans.  
  
“Did you get it?” Dean asked in reply.  
  
Dad nodded, taking Dean's arm and helping him up. “It chased you down, and I got a good bead on it. I think it's safe to say it's dead.”  
  
Dean grimaced and rubbed at his head. “We gonna burn it, just to be sure?”  
  
“Yeah; better to err on the side of...caution,” Dad trailed off, his brow furrowing. “Where's Sam?”  
  
Two little words, and they never failed to cause Dean's chest to tighten. “I thought he tumbled with me,” he said, turning back to look at the hill. No Sam, anywhere.  
  
“It was only you that came down.” Dad glanced around, then cupped his hands around his mouth. “Sam!”  
  
There was no answer. “Move,” Dad said shortly, and Dean recognized it for the fear that it was. Dean hurried up the hill with him, stomach turning in knots. Despite being pissed at the kid, he'd still kept an eye on him, and had heard Sam shout the same instant Dean had taken the fall. Dean had assumed they'd both gotten knocked down the incline, but now...  
  
Where was he?  
  
He pulled his flashlight out and scanned the area. “Sam?” he called. Still no answer. They were at the clearing, though, where the leszy had jumped out at them.  
  
A glint of something shining caught his attention, and he turned his flashlight on the object. The silver knife Sam'd been carrying. Dean's panic slid up a few notches, and he hurried forward to pick up the item.  
  
If his dad hadn't been standing nearby, Dean would've tumbled head first down the hole. As it was, it was close. Dad caught him by the back of his jacket and pulled him back in time, and together they peered down into the dirt hole.  
  
“I'm going down there,” Dean said, and didn't bother waiting for Dad to reply. This was a no-brainer to figure out: Sam's knife was by the edge of a hole, and Sam was missing. There were roots all over the place to hang onto, and Dean steadily made his way down, aiming his flashlight below in the hopes of spotting a place to land and a little brother to pull back up.  
  
He found the bottom, and decided to let himself fall the remaining six or so feet. Landing was easy, and he pulled his flashlight back out to peer around. “Sam?” he called into the darkness.  
  
“D-Dean?”  
  
Thank hell. Dean turned to his right and found a dirty, tear stained face wincing from the light. “Sorry,” Dean said, turning the flashlight away and making his way over to his brother. “Are you hurt?”  
  
Sam swallowed like he was trying to keep something down. “My arm,” he whispered, and Dean could tell by the way he was cradling his left arm to his chest that it was broken. Broken pretty bad, too. There was no avoiding the hospital this time.  
  
“You came back,” Sam said, voice hitching like he was trying not to cry.  
  
“Just hang on, we'll get you out of here.” Then Dean replayed Sam's words and frowned. “What do you mean, came back? I wasn't up there, Sam.”  
  
It was Sam's turn to frown. “You didn't...you didn't leave, then?”  
  
“Not on purpose; freakin' leszy knocked me back down the hill,” Dean admitted, rubbing at his tender head. He'd done worse to it; he'd survive. “Why? Did you seriously think I'd leave you down here or something?”  
  
The voice was joking incredulity at what should've been an obvious no, but Sam bit his lip. “I...I thought it was, you know, a p-prank. To get back at me for the tapes.”  
  
Dean found his jaw slowly dropping open in shock. “Oh god, _Sammy_ ,” he breathed. Then he was leaning over to wrap his arm around Sam and hug him as best he could. “I wouldn't do that to you. _Ever_. That's not funny at all.”  
  
“Neither was what I did,” Sam mumbled, and Dean pulled away to hold Sam's face in his hands.  
  
“Forget about the tapes for a minute, okay? Just listen to me. I don't care how angry I am at you, or how messed up stuff gets between us. I'm not going to leave you alone somewhere so you can 'learn a lesson' or whatever else you thought, okay? It's not gonna happen. I swear to you. I will _never_ leave you alone, but especially not when there's a huge chance of you being hurt. Got it?”  
  
Sam's eyes brimmed with tears, but he did give a hearty nod. Dean leaned in and pressed his lips hard against his brother's forehead, remembering when his mom had done it for him when he'd cried and been scared. He had other good memories of her that weren't associated with the cassettes, like that one, and he was done caring about the tapes anymore, anyways. He pulled away and gazed down at the one thing that would always matter more than anything else, and saw his brother give a small smile.  
  
“Let's get you out of here,” he said, carefully helping Sam sit up.  
  


* * *

  
  
When Sam woke up, it was to a sterile, white room, and a reddish tinge as the sun came in through the window. Beside him, Dean was flipping through a magazine, half-heartedly staring at whatever was inside...Better Homes and Gardens?  
  
“You're actually reading that?” Sam asked with a yawn, and Dean glanced up over the magazine at him.  
  
“Well, since whatever pain meds they gave you knocked you out, I had to read _something_ ,” Dean said. He tossed the magazine away and scooted his chair forward. “How you feeling?”  
  
“Like I broke my arm,” Sam said dryly. Dean snorted but gave a small grin. “Where's Dad?”  
  
“Trying to find a doctor to release you.”  
  
“How long've we been here?”  
  
“Six hours, twenty-two minutes, and...I lost the seconds,” Dean said, dead serious. “They set your arm five hours and forty-three minutes ago, and encased it in plaster five minutes after _that_.”  
  
Sam raised his eyebrow. “So why are we still here?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Hell if I know. Hospitals are weird, dude.”  
  
“Yeah, no kidding.” This one wasn't bad, but still. Not his favorite place to be.  
  
“I think you should be the winner.”  
  
Sam glanced back at Dean, who was giving a small smile. “I mean, the underwear? And then the tapes? Pretty genius, little brother.”  
  
Sam shook his head hard enough to make himself dizzy. “No, not genius. Stupid. Really stupid.”  
  
“They're just tapes, Sammy,” Dean said quietly. “And hey, they're all in one piece, because you're smart like that.”  
  
“They were yours, and before that, they were _Mom's_. I shouldn't have touched them.”  
  
“You didn't _know_ , though, Sam.” Dean reached out and patted his shoulder. “Let it go. I'm not angry anymore, okay? I've had my 'be angry' time.”  
  
Sam gazed at his brother long and hard, but there was nothing but genuine ease there. “You sure?”  
  
“I'm sure,” Dean confirmed. “But if you ever think that I'll leave you alone somewhere, abandon you, again? I'll kick your ass.”  
  
Slowly Sam's lips turned upwards. “That's what I thought,” Dean said, leaning back in his seat.  
  
“If you ever touch my shampoo again, I'll kick _yours_.”  
  
“Eh, not worried,” Dean replied immediately, and Sam reached out to smack him. Dean slid away and chuckled. “Speaking of your hair, it's a little uncovered. Where's your hat? Dad said you came home without it.”  
  
Sam winced. “It's a long story,” he finally sighed.  
  
“Yeah, Dad said that, too. Does it have anything to do with that spectacular bruise on the underside of your chin?”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. Dean leaned back and propped his feet up on the bed. “We're gonna be here awhile, so I think I got time for a long story.”  
  
“It's really boring.”  
  
“I doubt it.”  
  
It was Dean's serious tone that finally had Sam taking a deep breath and explaining how he'd lost the hat.  
  


* * *

  
  
One week later, and Dad announced that they were ready to move on. “We'll leave first thing in the morning; make sure everything's packed up. You boys know the drill.”  
  
“What time in the morning?” Dean asked. “We've gotta get our stuff from the school.”  
  
“9:30 or so, then. But make it quick, so we can get to Nevada as soon as we can.”  
  
“No problem,” Dean said, glancing over at Sam. They never left anything at the schools, in case there was a pickup and go type of situation. The only item they had to retrieve was a small, black hat. He gave a wink, and Sam gave a grin back. Turned out, they weren't quite done with their prank war. Not yet.  
  
The last prank needed to be played by both of them.  
  
At nine sharp the boys were inside Sam's school, watching and waiting behind a corner. “That him?” Dean whispered as a big, burly kid appeared in the hallway. Other kids steered clear of him, and Sam nodded.  
  
“That's George.”  
  
“Cool. You ready?”  
  
“Ready.”  
  
As one they stepped out from behind the wall, moving together towards George. Dean nudged at Sam, and Sam lowered his head like Dean. When they got closer, Dean pulled the bottle of Nair from his jacket, opened the cap, and let the contents fall to the floor. Then he stepped to the right, and mouthed a countdown to Sam.  
  
On one, they both bumped into George's sides. “Watch it!” George snapped, and the boys kept going. With the bump, they'd managed to slide fishing hooks into the waistband of his shorts, and Dean held onto the thin line that kept him tied to the hook.  
  
George yelped suddenly as he slid on the slick floor, falling forward and face first on the floor. “Now!” Dean called, and yanked his line when Sam did. George's shorts slid off in one, easy movement, and for a brief moment, the entire hallway fell into a stunned silence.  
  
Then the roaring laughs filled the hallway.  
  
George turned bright red and turned back to glare at them. “G-Gimme my shorts!” he demanded. Dean stole a glance over at Sam and found him cracking up, casted arm coming up to hold his stomach. Grin firmly back on his face, Dean turned back to George.  
  
“We're willing to make an exchange. I think you've got a hat that belongs to us.”  
  
“Nice choice of underwear,” Sam wheezed, and Dean's grin widened. He honestly didn't feel too sorry for the kid who had boxers with _hearts_ all over them.  
  
And there was no sympathy for the kid who'd slugged his brother hard enough to leave a bruise.  
  
George stood, wobbly legs trying to find a hold on the slick floor. One look at Dean, though, and the kids standing and watching and laughing, had him moving fast. He hurried to a locker on the side of the wall, fumbling with the combination before he opened it and tossed the black AC/DC hat towards them. “Now my shorts,” he said, his voice shaky but his glare back on.  
  
Dean pulled the hooks out of the shorts and headed back over to George. The room started to fall silent again, and watched as Dean held the clothing out. George took them, but his glare was still concentrated behind Dean, to where Sam was undoubtedly standing.  
  
The glare was knocked off of his face, literally, and Dean shook out his right fist as George went down a second time. The kids were no longer silent, but cheering this time as the school bully cradled his jaw.  
  
“Dean!” Sam hurried forward, staring at George in surprise.  
  
Dean ignored him. “That's what you get messing with my little brother,” he said, narrowing his gaze at George. George whimpered and scrambled to get away.  
  
Then Dean turned back to Sam with a grin. “Ready?”  
  
“More than,” Sam replied, smile back on his face.  
  
They left together, Dean tugging the hat back onto Sam's head.


End file.
